


When the World Comes Crashing Down

by Tuxedo_Elf



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: After season two ends, Gen, Nightwing makes mistakes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-05
Updated: 2015-01-05
Packaged: 2018-03-05 14:02:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3122879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tuxedo_Elf/pseuds/Tuxedo_Elf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After leaving the Team following Wally's death, Nightwing is alone - and in trouble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When the World Comes Crashing Down

**Author's Note:**

> This has been floating around in my head for a while, so I finally decided to write it. :) I hope it's okay, I'm feeling oddly nervous!

When the World Comes Crashing Down

xxxxxxx

 

He was in over his head and he knew it. Flipping backwards off a metal beam, he dodged the next hail of bullets by the skin of his teeth. There were too many, his intel had been wrong. Either that or he'd been set up. Not that it mattered right now. All that mattered now was getting out of this alive and that was looking increasingly unlikely. 

He'd nearly found out the hard way that these guns were of alien origin and he was pretty sure some of the dealers were too. The men looked indefinably wrong and the bullets seemed to thrum slightly, as well as hitting harder and faster than any he'd seen before. 

A shot made him dodge at the last moment, causing him to bash into some of the crates, his arm protesting at the impact. With a growl he dived behind the crates, trying to get a moment to catch his breath. 

When had it all gone so wrong? Not just this mission, though that was certainly his most immediate concern, but his life in general. Just a few months ago he was the leader of a close-knit team, trusted and respected by all of them. Now he was in a warehouse full of alien guns, outnumbered and alone. 

In truth, he knew when it'd gone wrong. The day he agreed to facilitate Kaldur's deception, fake Artemis' death and, crucially, keep it from the rest of the team. He had never, and would never, tell anyone that the initial plan had been Kaldur's. Had he not agreed, it couldn't have gone ahead, so it didn't matter. The weight was on his shoulders. 

Shots crashed through the crates as well as his thoughts and his eyes opened wide. They must be truly desperate to get to him if they were willing to risk damage to the merchandise. He leapt up, ignoring the pain lancing through his arm, trying to get to the top of the crates in order to launch his own attack. His eyes scanned the warehouse, looking for a way out. The doors were locked and bolted, the small windows nearly inaccessible, though they were his best chance. 

Wingdings in one hand, gas pellets in the other, he tried to blind the shooters before taking them down, hoping that he could buy enough time to reach one of the high windows. Anger surged through him, though it was aimed at himself as much as those he was fighting. He should have checked things out more thoroughly before going in, certainly shouldn't have gone in alone. But who was there to call these days? Batman was busy and he hadn't been in contact with the Team or the League since he'd left. Once upon a time he'd have called Wally, but... no, he couldn't think of that right now, couldn't let it distract him as he swung up, twisting his body to reach the window.

He hated this. He missed having someone watching his back, just being there. True, being alone drastically lowered the chances of someone else being hurt, but it just wasn't him. He liked being with people, cherished his friends. The friends he'd driven away. The friends he needed right now. 

Grunting inelegantly, Nightwing hauled himself up onto the narrow ledge. His arm screamed at him, the pain getting harder and harder to ignore. He reached to his leg for one of his escrima sticks to break the window, but as he did so, something hit him in his already injured arm. 

Thankfully, the bullet didn't pierce the tough suit, but the impact and the pain knocked him off balance, causing him to slip from the ledge and fall. Biting back a cry, he shot his last grappling hook to try and break the fall. 

The line slowed his decent, but lacked control and he slammed back-first into the crates, the wind knocked out of him. The grapple slipped from his hands and he hit the floor, not getting a chance to move before something connected with the back of his head, making the world spin. 

Groaning, he tried to get up, but he was too off-kilter and had to stop, his hands supporting his shaking body. 

Something cold was pressed to the side of his head and stopped him in his tracks. His instincts drove him to try and move, yet as soon as he tried he found himself restrained, the damaged arm and head injury preventing him from retaliating and he let out a growl of frustration. So this was how it ended. Nineteen years old, alone in a filthy warehouse. Broken, down, defeated and with a gun to his head. 

Maybe it was the end he deserved, he thought bitterly. After all, he hadn't left the Team because he thought they wouldn't respect him, or follow orders. Nor had he left because of losing Wally, though he missed his friend deeply. No, he'd left because he'd lost the one thing he valued most – their trust. And what future was there for someone nobody trusted? Despite that, he tried again to get up, not willing to go without a fight.

His efforts earned him another blow to the head and he knew there was no getting out of this one. Still, he glared defiantly at his captors, refusing to give them the satisfaction of seeing fear. Even as the gun clicked in readiness and his stomach knotted, he held their gaze.

Resigned to his fate, the crash that followed was unsurprising. It was a moment before he realised that it was too loud to be the gun and if it had been, he wouldn't be alive to think about it. 

He looked up – and in that moment wondered if the gun **had** gone off, if he **was** dead, because he couldn't possibly be seeing this. 

The Team, **his** Team, had crashed their way into the building and were working seamlessly to take down the dealers. Before his eyes, Superboy sent one flying through the very window he'd tried to break, and Beast Boy turned into a cheetah to pounce another trying to run. Wonder girl punched two more into unconsciousness while Robin took on two near the door. His vision blurred, but he was sure he could see most of the others fighting too. As he tried to get up he felt a hand on his uninjured arm and turned to see Batgirl helping him to his feet. 

In short order, the desperate fight that had so nearly claimed his life was over, not a single one of the dealers left conscious, victory snatched from what had seemed an inevitable defeat. He barely even noticed that his suspicions about some of the dealers being alien were now confirmed. 

“Are you okay?” Batgirl asked, her hand still on his arm. “I thought we were too late for a moment...” the grip tightened. 

“Fine... just a bit... battered...” He blinked, shook his head. Concussed too, if the spinning was anything to go by. “How... what are you doing here?” It had to be a coincidence.

Robin looked incredulous. “What do you think? We came to help.” 

Nightwing frowned. It didn't make sense. “But how did you even know where I was, or that I... needed help?” His pride twinged as he admitted it. 

Robin's expression changed to one that could only be described as sheepish. “Before you left, I... slipped a tracker into the sole of your boots.”

Well, damn. He'd been more distracted, more off his game, than he'd realised. He should have noticed that. “Why?” 

“Why?” Tigeress - Artemis – glared at him. “Because we're worried about you, you damn idiot.” 

“We all are,” Miss Martian added. “You've not contacted anyone since you said you were quitting and I... I tried to reach your mind, but you'd shut everyone out.” 

“So we thought it best to keep an eye on you.” Gar shifted into his normal shape as he spoke. “Good thing we did too!” 

Nightwing was no longer sure if the spinning was the concussion or the revelation that, despite everything, they'd cared enough to keep track of him. He'd betrayed their trust, blown up their home and they **still** cared.

Conner offered one of his rare smiles. “When we picked up your location and all the extra life signs, we figured you probably weren't, as you used to say, feeling the 'aster.” 

He paused, the word-play he'd once loved sounding strange to his ears. When had he last done that? Played around with words, joked and laughed as he took down the bad guys? When had it all become so damned serious? Even before all this, his life had seemed to be getting grimmer. He hadn't wanted to be Batman since he was thirteen, but lately he felt more and more like him. 

“I wasn't.” he admitted quietly. “I... thank you.”

“You should have called, Nightwing,” Batgirl chastised gently. “You didn't and we almost lost you.” 

She was right, of course. But she also didn't understand. “I didn't think I had the right. After everything I've done.” 

There was a silence and he was sure they were all agreeing. Until Rocket broke it. 

“I thought you were supposed to be the smart one? Because that's the dumbest thing I've heard in a while.” 

“Excuse me?” he asked, feeling extremely confused and vaguely annoyed.

“What she means,” Batgirl continued, “is that thinking that is pretty crazy.” She paused, picking her words. “No one is denying that we were hurt by what you did, we were. But we've thought about it, talked about it – and we understand. We know you were trying to keep everyone safe. You were wrong but... that's okay too. Even the great Nightwing gets to make mistakes.” 

“And you weren't alone,” Artemis said softly. “Aqualad and I played our parts too. You can't take all the blame. We screwed up – for a good cause – but we screwed up. It happens. You can't let one mistake take away from everything else you've done. You know... you know Wally would have said that too.”

He did know. They'd fought and never got the chance to make it up, but he never doubted that Wally had remained his closest friend until the end. Not that it was stopping him from replaying his many mistakes.

“I blew up the mountain. Your home.” 

“It was just a mountain,” Conner shrugged. “A pile of rock. Actually, we're building the new base right beneath it. It's the perfect cover, though mostly underwater. Kaldur loves it. He's there now, keeping an eye on things.”

The realisation was slowly dawning on Nightwing at last. Was it possible, had his biggest mistake actually been underestimating their capacity for forgiveness and loyalty? He'd truly believed that they were better off without him, that they had to hate him for the many deceptions. And yet – here they were. When he needed them the most, they'd come to him without being asked. 

“I... I don't know what to say.” He was not often speechless but this was more than he'd believed he could have again. 

Batgirl squeezed his arm and he dared to look at her, to see the gentle pleading in her eyes. “Don't say anything then. Just come home. We miss you.” 

He had to close his eyes at the chorus of agreements that came from the others, each one asking him back. Rubbing his aching arm, he nodded, trying to get hold of his chaotic emotions, relief, happiness, confusion and hope, all fighting for supremacy. They wanted him and he wanted them too. There was no sense in denying it. He'd just have to do better this time, give them the trust and respect they'd always given him. Smiling shakily, he leaned into Batgirl. “I can do that.” 

 

END


End file.
